


Infinite Doors

by PoetHrotsvitha



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universes, Ancient Greece AU, Childhood Friends AU, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Knights of Ren AU, One Shot Collection, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Priest AU, Size Difference, Trying to Conceive AU, dark au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11408151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha
Summary: Completely unconnected smutty one-shots exploring a range of Reylo AUs. That's it. Don't overthink it.





	1. [Childhood Friends AU] Do I Know You?

**Author's Note:**

> Adding every warning to the general tag would have things spiralling out of hand pretty quick, so there will be additional tags at the beginning of every chapter instead. Please check those to ensure everything is within your comfort level.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Childhood Friends Reunited AU
> 
> Warnings: References to unrequited underage crush, References to attempted underage kiss (firmly rebuffed by the adult)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into something of a virginity kink thing, sue me

Rey can’t help but press her palms to the glass as the elevator speeds upwards, revealing a glittering cityscape of lights that twinkle in the night. They spread out away from the building like a carpet of stars, little bits of winking proof that other people are awake and going about their lives even on Christmas eve.

Behind her, Finn grins, sharing in her childlike delight. “Pretty spectacular, right?”

“It’s amazing,” she agrees, casting a glance over her shoulder. “You get to look at this every day?”

He snorts. “As if. No, the peons are relegated to the lower floors. Conference rooms are up top, though.” As the elevator begins to slow, he offers an arm to Rey and she takes it regretfully, finally turning away from the spectacular view laid out below her. “So once a year, they let even us grunts celebrate in style.”

It’s not exactly easy to keep her steps steady as they move near the door, the heels on loan from Jessika and not her usual style. But Rey is determined. They make her legs look great and she’s on a mission tonight. “And you’re _sure_ you don’t mind Poe not being here to celebrate with you?”

“How many times do we have to go over this?” He pokes her side. “I couldn’t drag him into this ‘god-awful organisation’ no matter how much I wanted to. I promised to try and hide some petit fours in my coat to take home for him, though, so I might need you to cover for me.”

The elevator door dings as it opens, chiming with Rey’s laugh. Arm in arm, they walk down the hall towards the milling crowd of well-dressed partygoers, in search of free champagne and the requested petit fours.

As they make their way deeper into the office, it immediately becomes clear that the whole thing is a lot more formal and stiff than Rey expected it to be. In her experience, Christmas parties are plastic mistletoe strung up everywhere and strings of lights with broken bulbs around the windows, Poe warbling over a cooking turkey as the old radio crackles in the corner. Finn serving eggnog from paper cartons and insisting that everyone take a Christmas cracker (“in homage to Rey’s culture!”). Old movies while everyone lounges on the ancient couch, so aged that it bows in the middle and inevitably leaves them all squashed practically on top of each other.

There is little of that warm feeling to be found here. Polite laughter flutters over the muted classic Christmas music. She’s staring at the complex arrangement of braids and curls being sported by one of the women when Finn draws her attention with a touch at the elbow, holding out a champagne flute.

He nods his head subtly towards the corner of the room. “There.” When she turns as discreetly as she can, she can make out the tall man hovering in a corner. “Are you sure about this, Rey? I’ve told you, he doesn’t have a nice reputation.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promises, accepting the drink. “I told you. We grew up together.”

“But you haven’t seen him for half a decade—”

For courage, she swigs back the champagne all in one go, earning raised eyebrows from a few of the people around her. “I promise,” she says again, handing him the now-empty glass. “I’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

In the event, even after she leaves Finn happily chatting with a co-worker, it takes almost a half hour for her to work up the courage to actually approach him. Instead, she lurks, watching as he first has a conversation with a rigidly dressed red-haired man, and then an extremely tall blonde woman. He seems otherwise content to ignore everyone.

It’s been so long. He seems a world away from the friendly neighbour that patiently kept her company, indulging her games even though she was so much younger than he was, easing the sting of being an only child raised by her ageing grandfather. The summers of piggyback rides and wheedling him to buy her ice cream now seem like they come from a different lifetime.

When the blonde woman eventually leaves, Rey screws her courage to the sticking point. Stepping up beside him from behind, she offers, “Nice party, isn’t it?”

He turns with such a look of disdain that she nearly bails on the spot. But before she can waver, recognition flashes across his face, followed by utter shock. “ _Rey?_ ”

She wiggles her fingers a bit in a pathetic wave. “Hi.”

“Wow, you— this—” He gives her a once over, lingering on her legs, and she can't help but puff up a little in pride. “It's really you. You've, uh… Wow. You've... Grown up.”

Is he blushing? Clearly the nice boy she remembers is still somewhere behind the surly adult he's become. “You have too.” It's true; he looks sharp in his suit, his hair falling in immaculate waves. He keeps attracting covert glances from the women around him, and there's no question of why. He was boyishly handsome before, but he’s matured into something more during their time apart.

Still blinking rapidly, he shakes his head like he's trying to wake from a dream. “Why are you here?”

“I came with a friend.”

The furrow in his brow is minute but she sees it anyway. “A friend?”

“A _friend_ ,” she emphasises. “I, um.” She hadn't planned to admit this, but his obvious interest is encouraging. “I actually came hoping to see you.”

He slowly lifts his hand, tugging it through his hair in a gesture that he always used to use to play for time. Then he swipes it across his chin and mouth, clearly a bit flustered. “Me?”

This is going better than Rey had hoped. Emboldened, she steps a bit closer, tugging her lip between her teeth. He watches that intently, she notices, nostrils flaring ever so tightly. “Do you remember what you told me?”

“No.” It's clearly a lie.

“It was almost five years ago, and we were in my Grandpa’s basement watching some dumb movie.” She steps nearer again, and now she has to crane her neck to look up at him. He looks hypnotised, blinking at her closeness. “I tried to kiss you and you pushed me away and told me I was too young.”

“You were,” he says instantly.

“I was,” she agrees. There's no sense in arguing about it. She'd been sixteen and besotted and foolish. She lifts a hand and places it against his chest, feeling the softness of his suit and the muscle that is clearly underneath. “You told me to come back when I was older.”

His response is almost a croak. “Did I?”

“You did.” She looks up through her lashes at him. “I'm older now.”

“I—” He clears his threat and wraps a hand around her wrist, and she can't help but thrill at the way it engulfs it completely. To her disappointment, though, he moves her away, unable to meet her eyes. “I don't— I still don't understand how you're here.”

She's starting to feel impatient. Doesn't he understand how amazing this could be for them, what a miracle it is? “If you must know, my friend spent a lot of time complaining about his asshole boss, and one day he pulls up a company photo to show me a picture— and lo and behold, if it isn’t Ben Solo’s face—”

The grip on her arm is sudden and fierce. He practically drags her further towards a corner, away from the rest of the crowd, before he bends over right into her personal space. “I don’t go by that name any more.”

“I noticed,” she says archly, crossing her arms. “ _Kylo Ren_ , right?”

He doesn’t seem to like that name coming from her mouth. She doesn’t like it either.

This time, when she puts her hand to his chest, he doesn’t move it away. “Look,” she says quietly, “you told me to try again later.” It’s easier to stare at his lapels. “It’s later, and I’m trying again. Is that so wrong?” She drops her voice to a whisper. “I missed you.” The truth was that she had cried for weeks when he had disappeared without warning, leaving only a note that he had no intention of staying in touch with his family.

The silence is so long that she starts to think this has all been a terrible, terrible mistake, but he eventually murmurs back. “Do you realise what you’re asking?”

“Yes,” she says, immediately, confidently. She’s wanted that kiss for years. Wanted more.

He pulls out his cell phone presses a few buttons, lifting it to his ear. It seems like strange behaviour until he says, “Bring the car around to the front of the building.” As her heart rate starts to increase, he reaches down and laces their fingers together. “Let’s go then, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

They start kissing long before they get to his apartment, basically as soon as she texts Finn about where she’s going. If his driver thinks anything about it, he doesn’t comment.

Which is just as well, because Rey doesn’t want to stop. Even with his hands chastely on her waist, the kisses are intoxicating, more dizzying than the champagne at the party. She ends up straddled over his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, trying to memorise the sensation. It’s everything she's wanted from the moment that she came into her own as a woman, with desires that extended beyond pulling on his hair.

They trip past the doorman giggling like naughty children, and she gets one leg hooked around his waist in the elevator. They end up grinding against each other gracelessly, her dress hitching higher and higher until her panties are totally exposed, grateful that no one else seems to need the space. They can barely let go of each other long enough to stagger down the hall to his rooms, and it takes him four tries to get the key in the lock without looking.

It’s good that it’s so consuming, because she doesn’t want to think about the five years in-between or the ways he might have changed during them. Doesn’t want to know why he left— or at least, doesn’t want to know right now. This is a years-long fantasy come to life, and she isn’t ready to complicate it by demanding an explanation. Not yet. Not when he feels so hard and ready and she’s wetter than she’s been in her entire life.

His apartment is as nice as she’d expected from the expensive neighbourhood and building, but it also seems sterile. She doesn’t see much of it in any case, because she’s too focused on following his steps backwards towards what must be the bedroom.

When they get there she flops back onto the big mattress with a whine, and for a long moment he just hovers over her, arms planted firmly next to her head. His lips look swollen and bruised, his hair a complete mess, and she can only imagine that she must look as debauched. He seems to like what he sees, his eyes roving over her again and again like he can't believe that she's real. 

Gentle fingers run along her cheek, and it's unexpectedly tender and soft after the way they've been groping each other like teenagers. “I wanted to come back for you,” he says quietly, a tinge of desperation in his voice. “I’d look you up online every now and then, to see that you were doing okay, and I saw about your Grandfather dying— and I wondered then, if maybe I should reach out, but I kept thinking that you wouldn’t want—”

Rey props herself up on her elbows and wiggles until she can kiss him again, breaking off his words. “Ben,” she breathes, “less talking, more undressing.”

It breaks the seriousness of the moment and he chuckles, tugging his coat and tie off. Before he lets her see more, though, he hooks his thumbs over the hem of her dress and gradually works it higher, dragging it until the flat of her stomach is exposed. His touch is nearly reverent when it ghosts along the hem of her panties and then lower, until he skims the part of the fabric that is so painfully and clearly damp.

It’s so slow that she has to resist the urge to snap her legs together from sheer embarrassment. Instead, she slowly lets them fall open further, trying to look as bold and confident as she can.

“Christ,” he breathes, a low moan. “ _Fuck_ , Rey.”

Suddenly focused and efficient, he rolls her over and she obeys the motion, shuffling to help him unzip the dress down her back and pull it off of her. When he pushes her over again, he sucks in a breath at the sight of the bralette, a lacy thing designed to try and accentuate what little she has happening in that department.

He doesn’t seem to think it’s lacking. If anything, he immediately lowers his head to it, the warmth of his mouth and scrape of teeth through the fabric enough to make her keen. He stays there, laving at one tit with his tongue and flicking at the other with his thumb until she’s a shuddering mess. It isn’t long before she’s wishing that he would move somewhere— well, a bit further south, but he seems entirely content to stay where he is. 

When Rey tries to shove him down, he finally lifts his head and chuckles again. “Still a bossy brat, I see.”

The childhood nickname feels a bit illicit and delicious when used in this context, but she sniffs at him all the same. “Still condescending, I see.”

He grins at her makes quick work of his shirt, and she’s thrilled by the expanse of pale skin suddenly visible, her fingers tracing along the front of his chest. By the time he drags her calves over the edge of the bed and kneels between her legs, slowly pulling the panties down her hips, she's convinced that he must be able to hear her heart for how loud it’s beating.

The first nudge of Ben's finger into her is divine and she whines again, high pitched and needy. When she bucks against it, it slips in further, strange and foreign and perfect. _More_ , her body sings, _more, more_ , leaving her nearly delirious with want. It isn’t long before the stretch grows, and she realises with a jolt that he must have added another finger.

He’s breathing heavily now, like he’s trying to contain himself. “You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart. Have you— have you even done this before?”

She’s silent for a touch too long, trying to decide if 'no' would put him off. Apparently that’s answer enough.

There's a shuffle as he stops his movements and leans up look directly at her face, eyes wide. “You waited for me,” he says, voice full of wonder.

For some reason that makes her frown. It seems sort of pathetic and needy, the idea that she just sat around and pined for him for half a decade. So she props back up on her elbows and scowls down at him. “I didn’t wait _for you_. I got close a few times, it just— it never felt right, that’s all.”

The twist of his fingers inside her is so sudden that she gasps and kicks her foot out, her heel catching on his shoulder. “Whoever they were,” Ben says, breath skating across her stomach, “I’ll make you forget them.”

She snorts at him. “Yeah, okay, whatev—”

A hand spreads across her sternum and pins her to the bed, and suddenly, the fingers inside her start to move so smoothly and steadily that she forgets how to speak. They’re so much longer and thicker than her own, the blunt edges rubbing _just right_. She can’t even be embarrassed by the wet sound it's making, or the way a few of his fingers skate up the cleft of her behind with each thrust. Fuck, this doesn’t feel _anything_ like the awkward fumbling with her prom date in the back of her Grandpa’s sedan, or the few times that she’d invited a boy back from a night of dancing.

Just when she thinks that she can’t get any more aroused, his voice starts to croon in the dark. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I—”

“I know you are." She had no idea that he could sound like this- had imagined it, sometimes, but the reality is infinitely better. "I can feel how much you want to. You’re gonna come all over my fingers, aren’t you? So needy and desperate. Do you have any idea how you looked in that dress? Coming up and fucking _propositioning_ me in the middle of a fucking _office party_? You were the hottest thing in the room, did you even see the number of men watching you, who were wishing they could take you home? But no, you’re here with me, my beautiful girl, all grown up.”

She needs something to hang onto. She can’t reach him, so instead she vaguely scrabbles at the sheets above her head, trying to reach for a headboard, for a pillow, for anything that will ground her. When she does this by herself, it’s usually a slow and steady climb towards orgasm; Ben feels like he’s _shoving_ her towards that cliff in abrupt and overwhelming increments, very nearly too much. His thumb keeps dancing little patterns over her clit, and it’s sending little sparks that make her hips jerk up in unsteady movements.

Just when her breathing is going ragged, her mind nearly white, he stops moving. His fingers still, his arm still holding her down so that she can’t even move around him.

“What—” She keens into the air, no dignity left. “Ben! Please!”

He doesn’t move. “Will you ask nicely, sweetheart?”

Anything, anything at all to get him to move again. “Oh please, Ben, please I want— I—”

He makes a humming noise. “I’m not sure what you’re asking for.”

“I want to come, please, please, _please,_ please let me come!”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and she snaps her forearms across over her eyes and openly sobs when he lowers his head, the warm wetness of his mouth and the steady thrust of his fingers enough that she unravels in a spectacular burst of sensation. It’s a full-body experience, everything going tense as it rips her through in waves, all the way down to her toes.

She can distantly hear Ben groaning again. “So fucking _tight_ , shit, Rey, I’m gonna wreck you if I’m not careful…”

When she finally stops twitching and lolls her head to look at him, she gets her first look at his cock as he shoves his trousers and boxers to the floor. The size of it makes her mouth go dry, as does the ripple of muscle in his forearms when he drags her up a little further over the bed and kneels over her. There’s the sound of a drawer sliding shut and a wrapper crinkling, and she watches through a lovely haze as he gives himself a few swift pumps and then rolls the condom on carefully.

With a few quick movements of his arms, he lifts her thighs up around his waist and she obediently links her ankles, holding herself in place. The fuzzy fog in her brain lifts immediately when she feels the first nudge of his cock pushing into her, and she whimpers at the stretch. Fuck, she’s used toys and things so this shouldn’t be _too_ difficult, but the real thing is more intimidating somehow. He keeps going until she lets out a sharp keen, clenching tightly around him as the first bit of pain starts.

“Are you—” he pants out, one thumb now running along her ribcage anxiously, “are you all right—”

She lifts her hips in response and cranes her neck to press a kiss below his ear, determined to push through this, knowing it'll pass. “Yes, please, I’ve waited for so long—”

He’s still going slowly and the stretch converts to a burn low in her belly, one that makes her moan out his name as he groans. It goes on and on until she’s suddenly grabbed by the intense wish that he would just hurry _up;_ frustrated, she scratches her nails down his back and bites down on his neck as tightly as she can without breaking his skin.

It does the trick. With a shocked gasp, Ben jerks forward and bottoms out in her, their hips slapping together. Even the pain is somehow welcome and Rey just clutches tighter, changing her bite to peppered kisses that she leaves over his neck and chest. “Oh please,” she whispers, “please, Ben, fuck me, please—”

It only takes a few strokes for the pain to switch to a slow burning pleasure, one that leaves her writhing underneath him. Soon, one day soon she’ll push him over and ride him, make him take her from behind, rock in his lap until he's a shuddering mess at her mercy— but for now, it feels divine to have all of his weight on top of her, inescapably _Ben_ and hers in this moment. It gets even better when he leans back to push her knees to her chest, the angle fuller and sweeter for it. He's staring down at where they're joined with wide eyes, watching himself slide in and out, and just the knowledge of how much he's enjoying the view is enough to drive her even higher. 

All of his clever words seem to have deserted him now that he’s working in earnest, breaths ragged and hair plastered against his forehead. She can hear little gasps that sound like a mix between her name and general profanities, rolling into one jumbled mess as his thrusts get harder and harder. Eventually, she ends up just reaching up to dig her fingers into his broad shoulders, doing her best to hold on, meeting movement for movement as she rolls her hips.

“I’m not gonna last too long,” Ben grunts, pressing harder against her knees, his hips digging upwards in a way that has her spasming frantically underneath him from the impact low in her belly. 

“That’s fine,” is all she can manage— because it truly _is_ fine, this is lovely but her insides are starting to feel a bit battered— before he groans and pushes with one last heavy movement, twitching and shaking as she closes her eyes and rides out the sensation.  

She feels him reach down and grip the base of the condom before he pulls away, rolling over until they’re both on their backs, staring at the ceiling. When Rey eventually sits up, casting an admiring look over the long body and reaching to pull the condom off his softening cock, he twitches and makes a happy noise in the back of his throat.

“So,” she says with a grin, pressing a peck to the tip of his nose. “How long before we can do that again?”

 

* * *

 

She’s pulled from her dreams by a low voice. There’s still a dull ache between her legs, but it’s joined by a flash of heat when she remembers _why_.

“Yeah, well, tell him it can wait,” the voice is saying, through gritted teeth. When she lifts her head a little, she can see that the room is empty, the sky still dark outside. “It’s four in the fucking morning on Christmas day. It can wait a few hours. No, it’s not because—…” There's a long and tense moment of silence. “Call her that again, Hux, and I’ll put my foot up your ass until you can taste it in your throat. No, I will not— Fine. _Fine_. But no sooner than seven. He can wait until seven.”

Everything falls silent and Rey squints towards the hallway, trying to blink until she can see in the darkness.

The soft thump of his footsteps announce Ben's return, and she sees his silhouette come towards the bed, the mattress dipping and creaking a little as he settles back down beside her. His warmth is immediately welcome, the touch of bare skin enticing and sweet.

She shuffles towards his shoulder, moulding herself to his side. “Is everything okay?”

“It will be.”

The sudden stab of panic makes her feel childish. “Are you leaving?”

“Not for a few hours.” A soothing hand comes up to lazily stroke her hair.

She tucks into it, but the fear still lingers in the back of her mind. “Please don’t disappear again.”

Ben goes rigid under her, but he relaxes nearly as quickly, stretching out an arm and rearranging them so that her head is now on his chest. “I’ll come back for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs against her hair. “I promise.”

 

 


	2. [Priest AU, Part I] Little Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priest AU 
> 
> Warnings: Semi-public-sort-of-exhibitionism, Frankly appalling abuse of religious language and imagery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind reception to this trashy work! Comments are so encouraging and they light up my day.

There is nothing unusual about the sins on parade today.

Mrs. Lawrence lied to her husband about some small household expenses so she could buy a pair of shoes. Young Juliet was unkind to her brother and made him cry. Mr. Kane drank more than he ought to, again, and was short with his employees as a result. Mrs. Lewis missed two masses.

Little sins, little repentances. The usual parishioners that he can recognise by voice, even if he can’t see them. Kylo drums his fingers against his knee, trying to shift into a more comfortable position in his side of the confessional.

This is no easy feat. It wasn’t exactly made with someone of his size in mind.

It’s probably a little sin of his own to be so impatient, but he still tugs up his sleeve to check his watch. Almost finished. Then he can lock up and put his feet up with a nice cup of tea. It can’t come too quickly, as far as he's concerned, and he sends up a little prayer of apology for his restlessness. 

There’s a click when the door on the other side of the confessional opens, followed by shuffling and another click as it closes. Guiltily, like he’s been caught misbehaving, Kylo refocuses and shifts into an upright position.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” the voice begins, filtering through the screen. “It has been two weeks since my last confession.”

Oh, oh no. Kylo’s stomach clenches a little in despair; he should not feel a little lurch of anticipation and longing the way he does whenever he hears that voice. His mouth should _not_ go dry as soon as he recognises the soft British accent. There’s a pause and he realises that she’s waiting to see if he’s listening. He clears his throat— why does it suddenly feel so tight? “Go on, my child.”

Rey’s voice drops to a mournful timbre. “I’ve been guilty of the sin of lust, Father.”

She’s going to drive him insane. “We spoke of this before,” he says, as consolingly and gently as he can, thinking back to their agonising and short discussion during her last time in the confessional. It had taken every last drop of his willpower to make his body behave in the face of her vague and ashamed admission. “Did you do the penance I assigned you?”

“I did, but it didn’t work.”

“That—”

“I think it’s because I didn’t explain enough,” she blurts out, like saying the words faster will make it easier. “I don’t think I was clear about the extent of my sin.”

What in the _world_ has he done to deserve this? “What do you mean?”

“These… Thoughts,” she says hesitantly, “I didn't tell you that they're about a man who is strictly forbidden to me.”

Suddenly, Kylo isn’t sure if he can hear this. Rey has been so luminous in his congregation, a sunny and smiling presence every Sunday ever since she arrived in town. She’s a literal bright spot in his days, with her cheerful dresses and soft brown hair. The thought that she might be dreaming of some faceless married man makes a corrosive tendril of anger curl in his chest. “I don’t know if—”

“He’s a man of the cloth,” she whispers, so quiet that he nearly misses it.

A strangled gasp slips out of him before he can stop himself. A man of the— no, no, she can’t mean him, can she? Although— how many priests would she normally see? She doesn't go to any other congregations that he knows of. He must be hallucinating. Tentatively, he pulls back his sleeve again, this time to pinch his arm. Is he asleep? This can’t be real.

“I know it’s wrong,” she says, voice stronger this time. “I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t seem to help myself. I try and I try, but I can’t stop. At night, I lie in my bed and I—” She breaks off suddenly.

He should stop her. He really should stop her. “And?” he finally prompts instead.

She’s back to a whisper, a husky voice that make his pants suddenly seem far too tight. “I put my hands under my shirt and I pretend that they’re his— although his hands are much bigger than mine— and I think about how he might touch me. But… I’m a little short in that area,” she adds, a little sadly. “I might be a disappointment.”

He’s going to choke on his tongue. Kylo has definitely thought about her breasts, and it was _not_ to think about how they were lacking. No, it was more along the lines of imagining how they might feel under his fingers, soft and plushy until he meets the stiff peaks, where he could pinch and caress until she was whimpering soft little sounds into the air. How he could swallow those sounds with a kiss. “All of God’s creatures are perfect in how they are made,” he manages stiffly, “you have nothing, nothing at all, to be ashamed of.”

That seems to cheer her up, for she grows bolder again. “I go further sometimes. I slide my hands down until they’re in my underwear. I don’t— I don’t know a lot about that, but I know that those touches make me feel so good, Father. I think they’d feel better if they were his hands, though, and when I really try and imagine that, I’m so terribly filled with lust that I just _know_ I’m going to be sent straight to hell. But I do imagine it. I do, I imagine what he might feel like on top of me or underneath me, his strong arms holding me. I…” There’s a hitched little breath through the screen, and Kylo desperately wants to lunge out of his half and rip the other door open, to pull her out of the alcove and ravish her senseless. “Sometimes I imagine what he might feel like inside, and God forgive me, Father, but it’s driving me mad.”

Kylo thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe. Of all the places to be tempted, the inside of a confessional feels like it should be the least likely, but _oh_ he is tempted. He is tempted by the picture she has painted— a picture that, if he is honest, he has painted in his own head a thousand times. Late at night, in the shower, or in the safety of his own bed— the thought of her underneath him, all tanned skin and bright eyes, her chest heaving and body writhing. The way that she might feel between her legs, the way that she might _taste_ , slippery and wet just for him. And even darker thoughts that he can barely allow himself, ones of her with her lips stretched tightly around his cock while she stares up at him through her lashes, ones of her bent over with the curve of her behind and the slope of her back in front of him, her fists wrapped in the sheets as she lurches forward in bits, her spine arched from his hand twisted in her hair, the way she would no doubt feel so hot and tight around him—

He had told himself that it was safe if those thoughts stayed in his head. Still a sin, but he could repent and try to make right. But with her talk, Rey has pulled them out into the harsh light of day. Rather than being disgusting, as he has always feared they would be, they are obscene but beautiful.

He _wants_. He wants so badly that it aches. Literally, if the strain in his pants is any indication. Kylo can’t remember being so hard since he was an awkward teenager long before joining the seminary.

“And that’s not all.” She sounds genuinely remorseful now, ashamed in a way that simply does not match the samba that Kylo’s heart is dancing. “There’s more.”

He can’t imagine that there is anything that she could possibly add to what she has already said, but then, there isn’t a lot of blood in his brain at the moment.  “More?”

“Last Sunday,” her breathing is shallow, “I was in such a terrible state of _want_ , and his voice does such _things_ to me—  I went to mass without wearing anything under my dress.”

This is it. His heart is going to give out. He’s going to die here, in this cramped confessional, with an erection that is going to scandalise whichever poor parishioner finds him and definitely require a closed casket. There’s so much blood roaring in his ears that Kylo can barely think, but he can clearly remember the way she’d interacted with him last Sunday, cheerfully helping him set up for mass. So innocently beguiling, he’d thought at the time, with the way that a few strands of hair had escaped her tidy bun. He’d wanted to reach out and run them through his fingers. He'd wanted to pull her head close and properly smell the little whiffs of perfume that kept drifting towards him whenever she walked past. And all that time— while she was in that pretty dress— she had— she was—

“Father?” He’s been silent for too long. She’s afraid now, his darling girl, afraid that she has taken things too far.

She hasn’t, but how to say so? “I think you will find,” he finally says, shocked at how steady and calm his voice sounds, “that God can forgive all manner of things. If you are sorry.”

“I _am_ sorry,” Rey says immediately, breathlessly, “for this and all my sins.”

Kylo bunches his hands so tightly in his lap that his cassock is probably going to need ironing to get the wrinkles out. He's at a crossroads, now, and even though he's telling himself that things could still go either way, he knows deep in his heart that the choice is already made. “These sins are grave, my dear, and they will require more than the usual penance.”

“Oh?” The hopeful tone makes him physically shiver.

“You will need to pray, but I believe you will need to do so in the sanctity of this church.” Kylo clears his throat. Is he doing this? He’s doing this. “I believe a late hour may be conducive to your meditations.”

The pause makes him fear that he is now the one who has now taken things too far, but he needn’t have worried. “Yes,” she agrees, barely a whisper. “I think I will come tonight. At ten. To the west entrance.”

“Then I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,” Kylo manages, but the words now sound filthy and corrupted on his tongue. What is he doing? What is he _thinking?_ He should stop this now, before the true mistake is committed. This is madness—

“His mercy endures forever,” Rey responds quietly, reverently, and he swears that he can hear her beautiful smile.

Long after there is the click of the door and the sound of her leaving, Kylo sits in the confessional, staring at the grooves in the wood from the hundred years of priests sitting in this very spot, listening to and pardoning sins, grappling with their own temptations. He would like to pretend, but the truth is as harsh and beautiful as the saints depicted in shards of glass far above his head, unmoving in their judgement. The die is cast. 

The very moment that she beckons, he will follow her straight through the gates of hell.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shame? What? I don't know her.


	3. [Priest AU, Part II] Bigger Sins (Or, 10 P.M.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priest AU, Part 2
> 
> Warnings: Even more frankly appalling abuse of religious language and imagery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There needed to be a new chapter to celebrate 200 kudos (thanks, everyone! :D). Plus y'all talked me around to a continuation of this filthy AU, in which I continue to be a disappointment to my friends and family.
> 
> Man, OOC is basically becoming the order of the day with these things, ah well.

Rey is wholly unprepared when it starts to rain as she walks to the church, soaking her straight through to the skin. She runs over cobblestones as fast as she can around the edge of the cemetery, skirting along the side of the building until she reaches the west door. It’s secluded, away from the view of the street. Which is no doubt for the best.

In a way, she’s grateful for the rain. It means that she doesn’t get a chance to lose her nerve. Still, nonetheless, her knock at the door is… Timid.

There’s no sense in pretending that she isn’t nervous.

She nearly jumps in the air when it finally swings inward with a creak. She has to crane her neck up to look at Father Kylo, the extra step of height of the building exacerbating what is already a considerable difference. He’s in a casual button up and trousers, nearly devoid of evidence of his profession except for the slim band of white under his collar.

His brow furrows almost immediately. “You look frozen,” he says, pulling her into the building in brisk movements. It feels better as soon as she’s inside, the door closed and the biting wind eased. Some of her hair has fallen loose from its bun in her journey, and she holds her breath as he reaches out and brushes the damp strands away from her face, fingers warm and dry against her skin.

Just as quickly, he seems to collect himself, snatching his hand away.

Shuffling, Rey looks down at the floor. “Hello,” she finally offers, aware of how her voice echoes a little in the empty church. Only a few of the lamps are lit, and the whole place has a dim glow. “Should I…”

Should she what? She’s suddenly gripped by the fear that she’s misread the whole situation somehow— perhaps he really did only intend for her to pray? She’d been so blatant before, the false anonymity of the confessional making it easy to be brave. The words had flowed easily then, as she supplied him descriptions of the dreams that had haunted her ever since she arrived in this town. Months and months of pining had meant she had practically rehearsed the speech into the ground, honed to a point every time she saw him— working in the church garden, preparing his sermons, speaking from the pulpit.

When she finally looks up at him, he clears his throat and then gestures towards the long kneeler before the altar. “I’ll be right back,” he offers, and then strides away towards his office.

Hesitantly, Rey makes her way to the front of the church, and slowly gets down on her knees. The backs of her eyes feel like they’re prickling, but she’s determined not to cry over something as silly as this. She’s much stronger than that. She’s overcome so much, this is nothing in comparison. Perhaps this rejection is for the best anyway. 

Clasping her hands, she closes her eyes, and presses her forehead to the knuckles of her thumbs. _Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…_

She’s so absorbed in focusing on it that she doesn’t hear Father Kylo return. What she does notice is the sudden feeling of fluffy warmth around her head, moving in slow circles and guided by strong hands.

A towel. He’d gone to fetch a towel.

It feels so nice and soft, and she doesn’t want to move for fear of breaking the spell. So she stays still even as she feels him kneel down on the stone floor behind her, towel moving to her neck and shoulders long enough to pull her hair loose from its tie.

She sinks into the feeling, relaxing a little as he strokes along her hair over and over, gradually patting it dry. Just when she almost thinks she might start to drift to sleep, he sweeps the hair and towel over one shoulder, exposing her neck, and she feels warm and soft lips press to the skin behind her ear.

And just like that, she is _wide_ awake, breath hitching in her throat.

There are a few more kisses, gradually trailing towards the curve of her shoulder, before he murmurs in a low tone that makes her shiver again— but this time, not from the cold. “You really came. I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” she manages, honestly.

When he starts to kiss her skin again, she tilts her head backwards until she’s staring up at the ceiling, resisting the urge to pinch herself and check if this is a dream. But the hand now sliding along the side of her thigh— first outside of her skirt and then, gradually, under it, slowly reaching higher and higher— is something that she couldn’t possibly dream up, no matter how much she wanted to. The solid realness of it is not the stuff of fantasies. Eventually, the fingers trace high enough for him to meet the curve of her hip. She feels him shudder when he realises that, once again, she’s foregone underwear.

Perhaps it's shock at her boldness or uncertainty, but she can feel him hesitate. Trying to breathe slowly and deeply through her nose, she presses her forehead back down against her still-clasped hands, attempting what she hopes is an enticing wiggle of her hips.

It works. There’s another staggered breath against her shoulder and his hand promptly slides to the curve of her behind, gently testing and stroking in small circles. The cold is long forgotten. It feels like her skin is on fire.

When his fingers finally dip between her legs, she can’t help it. The moan sneaks out, low and long, somehow shamefully loud in the silence.

There’s barely a moment before one of his large hands is in her hair, twisting her neck around, muffling her sound with an urgent and smothering kiss. She finally gives up the pose on the kneeler and pushes herself towards him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, trying to press herself as close as she can. There’s a bulge in his trousers and she grinds towards it awkwardly, not able to move much while contorted this way.

“There’s a sofa,” he mumbles urgently against her mouth, “in my office.”

Rey knows which one he means. She’s sat there often enough, planning Sunday school sessions or bake sales with him. She pulls away and nods, wrapping her arms around his neck, intending to try and leverage herself to her feet; instead, she squeaks when she suddenly finds herself lifted bodily from the ground, one of her shoes falling away and clattering to the stone as he hooks an arm under her knees.

They don’t stop for it. She doesn’t care.

 

* * *

 

Once in his office, they end up semi-wrestling on the sofa, trying to rearrange themselves in a way that fits them both in the cramped space without once pausing their frantic kissing. Eventually she pulls him up to sitting, straddling his lap, both of them eager to keep tasting each other until her lips feel swollen and bruised. She finds herself continually running her hands along his chest over and over, marvelling at the muscle there, thrilled at finally being able to touch after so many months of staring. By the time she makes it down to undo his fly and tug his trousers down, he’s panting aloud, a ragged and low sound.

The first time she touches his cock, he thrusts against her hand, groaning at the contact. She gently wraps her fingers around it and tries a few slow pumps, marvelling at how hard he is. 

They could do this for a while. She could touch him, and he could touch her, and they could explore each other, do all sorts of things to make each other feel good. But she’s spent so long dreaming about this moment that it feels like they’ve been engaging in foreplay for months, her arousal clogging her thoughts to the point where she just wants him inside _now_. It's that thought that makes her tug her dress up to her waist, spreading her legs wider so that she can finally have what she's craved for so long. 

When she drags the head of his cock through where she nearly painfully wet, he groans again, seeming to agree. “Rey,” he croaks quietly, and then more insistently again when she continues aligning their hips. “Rey, please.”

She could drown in the darkness of those eyes. “Yes, Father?”

“You… I…” Oh, oh no, she thinks, he can’t be having an attack of conscience _now_. “You deserve more than this. _Better_ than this.”

She doesn’t want him to feel coerced, so she lets go of him, his cock jerking up against his stomach. She brings her hands up to cup his face instead. “But you’re what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

More kisses seem like a good idea, so she presses gentle fluttering ones to his forehead, his nose, his cheekbones, his chin, until she feels him relax happily under her. “I swear to God,” she whispers, “I’m certain. I've never been more certain of anything.”

He gives a shuddered sigh and tips his head down until it’s in the crook of her shoulder. “I want you so badly,” he whispers, breath hot on her skin.

“I want you too.” She rests her cheek against the lovely softness of his hair. “May I?”

Silently, he nods. Perhaps the words feel like too much of a betrayal against everything he’s meant to stand for.

It’s permission enough for Rey. She reaches down for his cock again, and with only a little bit more manoeuvring, gently pushes him inside with a slide of her hips.

There has been one other boy, a long time ago when she was much younger and more foolish. But Father Kylo is not a boy by any stretch of the imagination. Rey snaps her hands upwards and wraps them tightly back of his shirt with a gasp, wiggling as she tries to take him the whole way, determined to not show any signs of pain and to do this right. It’s a lot, but damn it, she can do it. She _will_.

Her heart practically sings with triumph when his hips finally meet her thighs, and she’s so full but it makes something deeply primal within her _sing_. Father Kylo, for his part, makes a noise like she’s strangling him– when she looks up, she discovers that he’s staring down with wide eyes, past the skirt scrunched at her waist, all the way to where they’re joined. “Holy Mother of God,” he chokes out.

The profanity almost seems more scandalous than what they’re doing. Rey can’t help but giggle.

His eyes snap back up. “What?” He manages indignantly, still breathless.

By way of answer, she just grins and rocks her hips, relishing the fullness and the gentle push-pull of him inside her. She’s been so aroused from the start even though he’s barely touched her, and really, she doesn’t care that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. She could hardly have expected him to, after all.

The grin apparently goads him into action and he tugs her face down for another claiming kiss, teeth clamping around her lower lip. “You’re going to be my ruin,” he moans, and she can’t help but clench at the idea, that she’s exerted so much power over this man who seemed so distant and untouchable—

There's a sound of ripping fabric and her breasts suddenly bare to the air; she yelps in surprise when he pushes her spine into an arch so he can reach them with his mouth. And _oh_ , that feels nice, very, very nice, warm and soft and sending something tingling straight to her hips. His tongue keeps flicking in a way that makes her wiggle around happily, twitching and mewling into the air. That is, until he makes a noise that only can be described as a _growl_ , the arm around her waist clamping tighter in an obvious command to hold still.

So she relaxes and loses herself in the sensation, trying to remember how to breathe. When she had imagined this, it had always been a bit more girlish— soft sheets, candles, sweet and loving words. But this is somehow more exciting and perfect, with him holding her in place above him, his hips jerking as he bumps against her with each thrust, hitting somewhere deep that she could never reach with her fingers. “Please,” she whispers into the air, the sound hiccupping each time he fucks into her. “Please, please, Father Kylo, please—”

Something about that makes him move even harder, his head leaving her breast and sliding up until he bites against her shoulder; another thing that she hadn’t imagined but immediately decides that she likes. She’s practically bouncing in his lap now, the sound obscene in the still air.

There’s a pain blossoming at her neck as Father Kylo sucks a bruise there, and there’s another rush of arousal at the thought of being so _marked_. She runs her hands over his broad shoulders again and again, not quite able to believe how broad he is, how tightly he’s holding her, how perfect he feels inside her—

They're moving in synchrony now, having found that innate and natural rhythm. Even on this ratty old couch and staring at beige curtains behind Kylo's head, this moment feels blessed to Rey, something tender and wonderful that she knows she'll cherish no matter what happens from here on out. 

His grip becomes so firm on her hips that she thinks he'll leave marks. “Wanted you for so long,” he whispers, and it’s like every fantasy she’s had coming true at once. “So long, Rey.”

“You too,” she breathes dreamily, hands wrapping tightly in his hair again, noting how he twitches and moans each time she pulls. “Always, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I couldn’t help it.”

“Fuck,” he curses, and she doesn’t think she’s ever heard him use such language. “Fuck, I— _fuck_ —”

He yanks her down so tightly in his lap that his hip bones are practically grinding into her skin; with a long groan from him, she can feel a rush of warmth between her legs, and for a moment she’s so entranced by the idea of having a child with him that she can’t help but moan out his name one last time.

The strength leaves his arms and she sags towards him, slumped against his chest, both of them panting and trying to catch their breath. She ought to feel so much worse, she knows. He’s broken his vows and they’re not married and this is so many kinds of forbidden and wrong. But instead, all she can feel is a deep-seated sense of contentment and happiness, one that makes her want to snuggle closer to the safety of his chest and his nice smell and never leave.

Eventually, Father Kylo lifts his head from the back of the couch, trying to look down towards her. “Are you—” he starts, a bit hesitant, “are you— using contraceptives?”

She frowns at him. “Of course not, it’s sin.”

He blinks at her for a long moment before he lets out a very long and exhaled breath. “Right.”

Gently, she pushes a bit upwards on her knees, twitching at the strange sensation of him slipping out of her body. Rocking her head forward until they’re bumping noses, she raises her fingers to his face, tracing the curve of his cheekbone before grinning at him again. “So.”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever thought about becoming Anglican?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anglican vicars can get married, is the implication, in case that wasn't clear. 
> 
> The repeated use of "Father" here made me feel like I was writing a Daddy kink thing, lol, but I swear to God that's the appropriate title. 
> 
> I even had a go at [**making a shitty edit for this piece**](https://poethrotsvitha.tumblr.com/post/162754517895/the-setting-may-change-but-they-will-always-find)! Whoo! 
> 
> NOW NOW NOW, what AU next? Hmm...


	4. [Dark AU] Effective Discipline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark Knights of Ren AU 
> 
> Warnings: **CONSENSUAL NON-CON** , Semi-exhibitionism, Leave the mask on, Inappropriate use of the Force

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allow me to reiterate: this one shot contains **CONSENSUAL NON-CON** , also known as **RAPE ROLEPLAY**. The scenario is such that you and I (the reader) know that both parties are enthusiastically consenting. Both characters engaging in the act _also_ know that the other person is enthusiastically consenting (benefits of the force bond headcanon...). However, other (non-Reylo) characters believe that non-con is happening for very thin Plot Reasons. 
> 
> If this will make you uncomfortable, please skip this chapter, and I will try and write something extra fluffy (Trying For Baby AU, maybe? Pet Owner AU?) next chapter to make up for it. <3
> 
> Also I just realised that Rey takes the lead in pretty much every one of these so far, lol, I think I'll flip the script next time.

Kylo Ren has spent many years cultivating respect as the Master of the Knights of Ren. He came to the role as a relatively young man, and through cunning and sheer brutality, he has earned a grudging submission from the other Knights.

This does not, apparently, impress the newest recruit.

Kylo doesn’t particularly mind. In her case— and _only_ in her case— he finds it somewhat charming. But her lack of respect extends to the other Knights, and they have not adapted gracefully to this new addition among their ranks.

“She went against command,” Tamrid Ren is hissing- again- voice distorted but clearly furious through his mask. A routine debriefing after a mission has turned into another chance for him to complain. Kylo hasn’t bothered to stand from where he was reading some more arcane Sith literature while the others were away, so Tamrid is clearly taking the opportunity to enjoy being the taller one for once. “She intervened during an execution and made me look a _fool_. By disrespecting my authority, she disrespects yours.”

Kira Ren- only recently bestowed with her new name, and having not yet earned her mask- gives Tamrid an impressively filthy look. “They were civilian innocents.”

“It was _my_ decision,” Tamrid insists. “She does not understand our cause.” A dangerous note of sedition enters his tone, something snide that makes Kylo’s hackles rise. “Perhaps the years in leadership have softened your ability to control new recruits—”

Before he can eviscerate Tamrid, Kira snaps to intervene on his behalf. “Perhaps _your_ little taste of power has made you lazy and sloppy, Tamrid.”

“You forget your place!”

“I am no normal recruit!”

“Oh, of course,” Tamrid sneers, twisting towards the girl. “Not all of us are willing to accrue _special privileges_ the way you do—”

“Enough.” Kylo stands and flexes his hand, and the Knight breaks off in a desperate gurgle. It’s a lazy choke hold, but Kylo is no longer even truly angry about this argument, just exasperated. It’s been repeated too often.

The remaining Knights had been standing off to a side and observing the proceedings with a sort of disinterest, but one of them now steps forward, her steps heavy. “The precedent is clear,” Lelach Ren intones gravely, always one for protocol. “Kira Ren requires discipline, as is our normal practice.”

Kylo turns an irritated eye on his apprentice. _Now look at what you’ve done_ , he snaps at her, foregoing speech for the more Force-dependent method of communication that only they share.

 _I’ll take the discipline_ , Kira retorts sharply.

‘Discipline’ for Knights traditionally entails a period of prolonged isolation and deprivation in a cell, or a particularly dangerous mission that occasionally results in injury or death. It has been effective and sufficient in the past.

Part of Kylo knows that he should simply assign her one or the other punishment and call the whole thing finished. He should. And yet.

She catches onto his hesitation, and a sense of sly amusement creeps from her end of the Bond when she realises that he’s unwilling to condemn her because it would mean his taking time away from her… Especial company. Her tone grows practically cheerful. _You’re going to kill Tamrid, you know._

He hadn’t been paying attention. With an irritated huff, Kylo relaxes his hand and the Knight crumples to the ground, coughing and snarling. Everyone is still staring expectantly, awaiting some sort of decision.

Kira nudges his mind to get his attention again. _You don’t really care that I ignored orders, do you?_

He snorts inwardly. _The only person you need answer to is me._

_Then you don’t need to actually discipline me._

_For the sake of my authority—_

_They only need to **think** you’ve disciplined me._

He doesn’t understand. _I beg your pardon?_

 _I’m sure you’ll think of something._ The words are accompanied with a series of distinctly lewd images, ones with Kira in various states of undress and Kylo— well, with him— oh Kriff, she’s never let him do _that_ before—

It suddenly feels like all of his clothes are too tight.

The silence has stretched on long enough that some of the Knights are now shuffling a little, glancing at each other. Kylo takes a deep breath and flexes his hand a few times to ensure his voice is steady before he speaks. “Go begin training.”

He doesn’t have to repeat himself. Tamrid’s continued wheezing as he gets to his feet probably helps, joining the others as they leave.

Once the room is cleared, Kira walks in graceful steps to him, putting a hand to his chest. “I would do it, you know,” she says quietly, “take the mission or the isolation.” Her hand keeps sliding downwards, to his stomach, still trailing on. “But I’d prefer this, I think.”

He grabs her wrist as dull thumping and clacking sounds start up next door, the usual noise of group sparring in the Knights’ reserved training space. “And how, exactly, is this meant to make the others think you’ve been disciplined?”

“I think,” she says slowly, “that with a little bit of help, I can sound _very_ upset, don’t you?”

She presses their hips together and he sucks in a sharp breath when she starts to grind against him, the friction delicious on his cock. The bond is as delighted as it always is by their proximity, humming back and forth. Stars, this woman intoxicates him into making bad decisions. She has ever since he first found her on Takodana, back when she had a different name and a different cause. Before he had shown her the true ways of the Force. 

“Besides,” she murmurs, “I know that you’ve thought about it.”

He has. It’s a shameful secret that he’s rarely indulged, a fantasy of holding her down as she squirms. Of forcing this infuriating and alluring spitfire of a woman to submit, even if only in body, even if only for a short while.

 _Do it_ , she orders, seemingly oblivious to the contradiction of commanding him to be in control. For a moment, in her mind’s eye, she shares the image of herself back in that interrogation chair— only this time, she’s naked and writhing while he stands over her. _Make me scream._  

That’s not his fantasy. It’s _hers_. His cock practically pulses at the thought.

Slowly, as calmly as he can manage, he reaches for her chin, holding it tightly and forcing her head uncomfortably far backwards. “I’m going to ruin you,” he murmurs, and her eyelashes flutter as her gaze becomes dreamy, unfocused, her lips parting slightly. The surge of arousal through the bond could have come from either of them.

It’s easy to shift his grip to her shoulder, pushing her down on her knees.

She eagerly starts to work on the fastenings of his trousers, smiling when his cock bobs free. _Hard already?_ She thinks up at him.

Instead of answering, he opens her mouth and freezes her in place in the Force.

 _Oh_ , she thinks dumbly, and he’s delighted that he’s caught her off guard for the first time since this started. _Oh_ , she thinks again when he presses his cock into her warm mouth, groaning at the feel of it. The benefit of the bond means that he can feel when it gets to be too much, so he can lightly draw back and give her a moment before he continues thrusting, holding her in place and using her thoroughly. He shivers every time he hits the back of her throat, the dull impact so _kriffing_ good against the head of his cock. The way that she gurgles and chokes probably shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, but then, he no longer pretends to be a good man. 

He can’t do _that_ for too long or it’ll be over too soon. So he eventually draws her head away, taking a moment to regain his composure, releasing the hold enough that she can relax and reach up to rub at her sore jaw.

Kira speaks through the bond again to get his attention. _Can I kiss you?_ Her face is a delightful red when he looks down, her pupils blown, her mouth slick with spit. She speaks part of her plea aloud, voice a little hoarse. “Please, Master?” _Take your mask off?_

It’s tempting. But instead, he tightens his grip in her hair until she lets out a high-pitched yelp. Something dark in his heart leaps at the sound. “Apprentice, what part of ‘punishment’ don’t you understand?”

With a twist, he yanks her to her feet. Even as she wriggles and kicks out without any real effort or aim, he pushes her towards the table in the room, bending her over it roughly, layering a few quick slaps against her behind. Her responding keen is _highly_ gratifying, especially for the way that he can feel the pain and jump of excited pleasure mingle in her mind.

When he yanks her tights down, he finds that she’s already dripping wet— because of _course_ she is— and in the spirit of the thing, decides to forgo further preparation on her part.

Leaning over her, he grips her wrists tightly, holding them stretched out over her head and pressed to the table. She's small enough compared to him that he can do it with relative ease, and that knowledge alone makes him a little bit harder- the way it always does. She's laid out beautifully, her shirt riding up just a little past her waist, shoulders heaving as she shivers under him. It takes a few tries for him to successfully dip his hips low enough to catch his cock against her the right away, instead of merely sliding in the cleft of her pert behind. Once he manages it, it only takes another little bit of manoeuvring to push past the slight resistance and bottom out inside her with one fluid stroke. Kira’s hissed shock is like music to his ears. It’s nearly as good as the sensation of finally being inside her, warm and yielding.

The first time he does a proper thrust, she makes such a sound of pain that he loses his momentum, concern taking over instinct.

 _I’m fine_ , she thinks, almost panicked at his hesitation. _I’m fine so don’t stop, please, that feels so good but they’ve got to hear, remember—_

In the rush of it all, Kylo had forgotten the point of all this. _Right, of course_ , he thinks back, giving her a gentle nuzzle behind her ear before he picks up the pace again. It helps that once he’s past the worry, the noises that she’s making are undeniably titillating, the sound of pain and pleasure often hard to distinguish anyway.

When he tries another sharp swat against her thigh, he discovers that she clenches tightly around him as she yelps in surprise. And that— _that_ feels good. In fact, it feels so good that he does it a few more times, timing it with each movement of his hips. Standing over her in silence while he thrusts and she thrashes and wails is intoxicating. It's power and sex all tangled up, and it's undeniably appealing. 

And he still has one more thing to add.

Still holding her down with one hand, he finally tugs the glove off the other with his teeth, removing the first garment since she pulled his cock out. Reaching around, he presses two fingers to her mouth, groaning softly when she eagerly opens her lips and sucks them against her tongue. Always so willing for him.

Then, slowly, so she knows what’s happening, he pulls his hand away and slides his fingers down her spine until he presses them to the puckered hole of her behind.

“No!” she wails aloud, but the bond pulses with her excitement at the idea. She’s imagining taking all of him there and he has to suppress a chuckle at her eagerness. _Not today, sweetheart_. She understands why when he gently works one finger in; there’s a flicker of confusion and discomfort even at that little bit of intrusion, and she plays it up with another anguished howl.

He’s almost surprised that no one has to come in to make sure that he isn’t actually killing her, from all the noise that she’s making. But, then, they probably wouldn’t dare.

When he works in another finger, gently skimming the bond to ensure it isn’t too much, she starts to babble. “Oh please Master, I can’t, it’s— no it’s, I can’t, it’s too much I— _please_ , I’m sorry, I’m sor _ry-eeeeee_ —”

“Quiet,” is all he rumbles out in response, as he begins to pick up the pace with his hips in earnest. She feels so hot and wet, vice-like around his cock, and everything in his belly feels tight and tense with his impending release. His thrusts are strong enough that she knocks against the table each time, her toes leaving the floor on every upstroke, her legs kicking out aimlessly without making contact.

She thrashes around for a few moments longer before she finally puts her head down on the table and sobs, loud crocodile tears interspersed with moaning, and he almost hates himself for how kriffing aroused he is by the sound. There’s something about having the only person who has ever been his equal submit to him for once, even if it’s only in pantomime.

It’s so inescapably _sexual_ , her weeping cut off by a hitch in her breath each time he pushes into her, creating a rhythm that unmistakably conveys what they’re doing to anyone who may be listening. To those that they know are listening next door.  

She is perfection. And he will never, ever, let her go.

 _No_ , she corrects through their bond. **_I’m_** _the one who will keep **you**_. Meanwhile, out loud, she looks back to implore him a wobbling voice with round and teary eyes. “Please, Master, I’m so sorry. Please. I’ll be good, I promise.”

The combined possessiveness and pleading shoves Kylo aggressively over the edge his orgasm. It takes him almost by surprise even though he knew he was close, his rasping breaths becoming something distorted and strange through the vocoder. Kira mewls when he jams her against the table in a more undignified manner than he’d intended, hips jerking through a peak more powerful than he’s had in a while. He could swear that it almost whites out his vision. 

Hands shaking, he releases his grip, realising that he's probably left bruises on her slim wrists; part of him purrs at the idea of her marked by him. As he pants over her, still curved against her back, she makes a satisfied noise through their bond. _There_ , she says, _that should keep Tamrid from sulking too much without having to send me away_.

Little minx. With a deep breath, he leans down to her ear, wincing as he rocks his hips back and pulls out of her, overstimulated and sensitive. “Do you think you could complete just one mission without sending him into paroxysms?” 

She doesn’t laugh outright— that would rather give the game away. But she does twist around until she can disengage his helmet, pulling it off with a grin before she wraps her hands in his hair and tugs him down for a long and happy kiss. When she draws away, it’s not before playfully nipping at the end of his nose. “Maybe I should stay behind with you,” she whispers. “For the next few missions.”

“Mm.” He pretends to consider it. “Maybe you should.”

 

* * *

 

The training room falls silent when Kylo walks through the adjoining door, clothes and mask securely back in place. Most movement stops as all heads swivel towards him, weapons slowly lowered and stances shifted.

The Knights clearly all heard the show that Kira put on. The whole ship probably heard it.

Taking a practice sabre from the wall, Kylo gives it a few lazy spins. “Kira Ren will not be joining us for sparring today,” he announces to the room in general, rolling his neck to get limber. “She will also be remaining here for the next few missions.” Something about his male pride prompts him to smugly add, “While she recovers.”

Getting into starting position, he raises a hand and beckons Tamrid to begin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy my [**ongoing dark fic!**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11785977/chapters/26577630)


	5. [Conceiving AU, Part I] Keep Calm and Carry On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to Conceive AU 
> 
> Warnings: Semi-public shenanigans, Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU was the clear winner from the comments of the previous chapter. I am nothing if not obliging.

One pink line.

Perched on the toilet, Rey frowns down at the test clutched in her hands. The tiles feel frozen under her feet, projecting cold up from the ceramic until she gives an involuntary little shiver.

Everything about this morning has been disappointing, so it shouldn’t be a surprise that this would follow. Hell, she’s been in this position so many times that it’s foolish and frustrating that she still feels a little bit crushed every time. All the same... 

There’s a bang on the door. Ben’s voice, still low and rumbly from sleep, cuts through the fan. “Are you swimming in there? I’ve got to shave before work.”

“Be right out,” she mumbles, and tosses the test in the bin.

 

* * *

 

They drive silently until Ben, now clean-shaven, starts casually drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “I saw you used another test.”

“Been rummaging in garbage, have you,” she grumbles. Sliding even lower in the leather seat, she props her feet up against the dash, knowing how much it annoys him whenever she does that in his pristine and fancy car. Why they can’t just use her old beater is beyond her, it works well enough—

“Dr. Kanata said you shouldn’t, if you'll recall. That it was just making you more anxious, checking over and over, and that being anxious wasn’t helping.”

Of course she recalls. How could she forget? Along with how she should be eating more greens and drinking more water, doing more meditation and taking more vitamins. “Whereas this conversation isn’t making me anxious at _all_.”

There’s a twitch in his cheek, the one that always jumps when he’s irritated. She knows that she shouldn’t be prodding at him when he’s just as disappointed about all this, but that somehow makes the whole situation worse. Test after invasive test has revealed nothing concrete wrong with either of them, but she still can’t help but blame herself. Surely, somehow, it has to tie back to her near-starvation in childhood. And that makes her feel like she’s letting him down, which makes her resentful, which—

“Look,” he finally says, interrupting her train of thought. His voice is a controlled sort of soothing and calm, the same kind he uses on his students whenever he’s walking them through a particularly tricky legal precedent. “How about when we get home tonight, I can run you a hot bath and break out the massage oil—”

“I’m not ovulating,” she says bluntly. She knows because she’s checked on her stupid app, input all of the details about her _cervical_ _mucous_ and _basal body temperature_ and every other weird bit of information that she never thought she would know about herself, let alone collect obsessively.

“I wasn’t thinking that it would lead to sex—”

“Good, because it would be pointless.”

The drumming fingers have stopped and his knuckles have become almost white from how tightly he’s gripping the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that I’m not allowed to fuck my wife unless I'm trying to knock her up. Pardon me for trying to be fucking nice.”

Irrationally, given that she hasn’t exactly been pleasant, Rey suddenly feels like she wants to cry. Shame, embarrassment and disappointment all roll into a potent mix in her chest, making it feel tight. “Don’t start now. Just— please, don’t start.”

They ride in silence until they reach the garage, and Rey can’t help but slam her door with a bit more force than necessary when she gets out.

Thank God that work is simple, she thinks to herself, already longing for her easy world of spark plugs and batteries as she goes to find her locker and coveralls. At least cars don’t talk back.

 

* * *

 

During her lunch break, she’s eating her soup and following Chewie’s rambling story about a footlong sandwich and a crowd of angry ducks when her phone vibrates in her pocket.

 _Ben_ , the screen says, along with her favourite picture the two of them on their honeymoon. The one where she has a big toothy smile and he has a sunglasses shaped sunburn. “Hello?”

“Hey, I’m on the shop floor. I’m guessing you’re on your break.”

With a frown, she stands from the table and steps away from the rest of the team to go to find him. It’s unusual for him to visit during work. He’d done it often when he was trying to get her to agree to go on a date— even ignoring his father’s dreadful teasing when Han finally realised that the visits were not intended for _him_ but for the pretty new mechanic— but it had gradually fallen away after they’d been together for a few years.

“Hey,” he says again quietly, once she's standing in front of him. He looks a bit rumpled but otherwise normal, dressed for work in the usual severe black slacks and overcoat. It's out of place in the shop, right down to his shiny shoes. 

She stuffs her hands in her pockets. “Why’re you here?”

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?”

That sounds serious. Heart sinking, Rey gestures him towards the office, abandoned now that everyone has left to eat. The sun is high in the sky so all of the blinds are drawn, giving it at least a modicum of privacy.

As Ben closes the door behind him, she crosses her arms, tapping her foot against the floor, oddly nervous for some reason. “What is it?”

Instead of answering, he closes the distance between them in two steps and kisses her.

Time has given them the gift of easy kisses, sweet kisses, ones that are familiar and friendly and loving and everything else in between. They’re oddly soothing and warming, the kind of kisses that make her giggle at the end and give her a soft fuzzy feeling in her heart. This is not a kiss like that; it’s forceful, nearly angry, and one of his hands twists in her bun until it tugs lightly at her scalp. When she instinctively lifts her own fingers to run them through his dark locks, giving them a retaliatory swift pull for good measure, he groans against her mouth. Dizzy, she finds that she’s backing up with stumbling steps, guided by the one big palm resting on the small of her back until she bumps against the edge of the desk.

He breaks the kiss to hoist her up onto the desk by her waist, letting some papers shuffle to the ground on the other side. She can’t bring herself to care. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “for being an ass. I know this has been hard on you. Couldn’t stop thinking about it all morning.”

Rey stretches out her legs, coveralls crinkling a little, until she can hook them around his hips and drag him closer. “ _That’s_ what made you come all this way in my lunch hour to molest me? Being sorry?”

The corner of his mouth twitches in a smile, but he nods solemnly.

“I’m sorry too,” she admits, dropping the smirk and keeping her eyes fixed on his collar. It’s easier than looking at his face. “I was being sort of horrible.”

“I like your sort of horrible.”

She snorts. “Not _that_ sort of horrible.”

“And now you’re telling me what I can and can’t like,” he drawls out. “Typical.”

Before she can argue with him, he’s kissing her again, his fingers flicking at the clasps of her coveralls. With truly alarming speed, she finds her back pressed against the desk, her head nearly hanging off the edge as his palm slides under her shirt. His hand is warm and soft against the skin of her stomach until it’s shoved beneath her bra, kneading and pressing with efficient strokes. She has to clap her hand over her mouth to not whine; the sound barrier in this office isn’t _that_ good. “Ben, I’ve got to go back to work.”

“I know,” he mumbles, but then there’s a shiver of air across her breast before the sensation switches to the warm wetness of his mouth. She can feel how hard he is between her hips and she can’t help but try and wriggle against him, attempting to get closer.

Sex has been mechanical for a while now. Even now, even though she’s enjoying herself, she can feel herself starting to disengage a bit— almost as if to try and dissociate from the inevitable disappointment of it not leading to pregnancy. His mouth lifts with a pop, and when she awkwardly cranes her neck up, she can see that she’s likely to have a mottled bruise across her breast in a few hours' time. The thought sends another a rush of heat to her hips, thankfully driving away all thoughts of calendars and tracking.

Ben gets her attention again by flicking her nose. “I had an ulterior motive in coming here.”

Did he ever. “Yes, I’ve noticed—” 

“I have a present,” he continues, unbothered by her cheek. “I think you’re going to like it.”

She props up on her elbows, aware that she’s scrunching more paperwork but not willing to be distracted. “A present? What is it?”

He reaches into his coat pocket for a little box. With a flick of his fingers, he pulls the lid off to reveal a small silicone egg, brightly coloured and clearly new.

Rey gapes at it. “Oh, no.”

“Oh yes.”

“That- that’s not what I think it is.”

Holding it with one hand, he pulls his phone out of his pocket with the other; with a few swift taps, the egg starts to vibrate in his hand. “It sure is.”

Holy _fuck_. “You’re not— you’re not expecting me to wear that here, are you?” The idea sends a thrill through her, even as the sensible side of her brain shakes a stern and lecturing finger.

“I sure am,” he says, now sporting a full-blown shit-eating grin.

Stunned into silence for once, Rey just stares at the little bright egg buzzing in his palm, trying to remember the last time he suggested something so— so— _obscene_ , something so exciting. It has to be a while. Long enough that she's forgotten how it gets her so hot, mind wiped empty of basically everything else. 

Apparently taking her silence to mean that she’s game, Ben begins to quickly tug down her coveralls, letting her shirt fall back over her breasts so that she’s mostly covered. For a relatively layered work outfit, he manages to get it all off quickly, popping the button on her jeans and tugging them down efficiently with the coveralls until her thighs are bared.

Her hips jump at the first nudge of the toy, fingers scrabbling ungracefully against the wood of the desk. She has to bite back another whine when she hears him quietly mutter “dripping” with some apparent satisfaction, the low drawl sending a thrill up her spine. The toy slides into her easily and his long fingers push it in deep, deep enough that she finds herself bucking against his hand almost out of instinct.

When he withdraws his hand, she _does_ whine in dissatisfaction, though she remembers herself enough to do it quietly.  

“Well,” he starts cheerfully, looking down at her and surveying his work with a broad smile. “Would you look at the time.” Reaching down, he grips her under her armpits and hoists her back onto her feet, dizzily reminding her of how easily he can throw her around when he puts his mind to it.

As she rights herself, it’s only his quick movements that stop her pants from falling down to her knees entirely. It’s humiliating that she’s just sort of standing there, mind empty, but she truly can’t work up the presence of mind to properly think, let alone keep her clothes in order. The toy is buzzing at a steady rate inside her, making her whole body want to shake. 

“I can’t work like this,” she mumbles, arms reaching up to tightly grip the soft fabric of his coat as he zips her jeans and does her coveralls back up for her like she’s some sort of child, clipping one strap after another.

“Of course you can.” He smooths her hair down tenderly; she has to resist the urge to slump against the lovely smell that seems to be coming from his neck. With a final pat to her shoulder, he apparently decides that she’s presentable, nodding with satisfaction and giving her a peck on her forehead. “I have faith in you.”

“I— if I can’t, can I—”

“Take it out?” Ben shrugs. “Of course. But if you can stand it, I promise that the reward will be worth the wait.”

She doesn’t even know _what_ to say to that. But he doesn’t seem to expect a response; instead, he straightens his long coat to hide the rather obvious bulge in his trousers and takes her hand, leading her back out of the office and onto the shop floor.

Each time she walks, the vibrator shifts a little, and it’s a struggle to keep herself looking natural and calm. But it also feels good, oh _so_ good, and Rey can practically hear her heartbeat pulsing in her ears from how aroused she is. Fuck, she didn’t think she’d be into this, but she literally can’t remember the last time she was so turned on.  

As they get to the front door of the shop, Ben stops and turns, leaning in to whisper in a low rumble that nearly makes her knees give out. “And when we get home—”

He’s interrupted by a yell from the direction of the office; Rey recognises her father-in-law’s voice. “Oh my god, you two,” Han calls out, “I’m going to need to bleach this desk! I don’t want grandkids _that_ badly!”

There’s a series of whoops from the lunch room and Rey can feel herself turning pink, but she can’t bring herself to be truly embarrassed or repentant, not when there’s a steady mechanical buzzing distracting her so very thoroughly between her legs.

Ben just grins. “I’ll pick you up at five,” he promises, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek; in moments, he’s out the door with one last wink through the glass. Rey feels rooted to the spot. Surely, she’s breathing too heavily, surely someone will hear? What if someone hears the vibrating? What if someone _notices_ —

“Break’s over,” Chewie’s voice barks out. “Back to work”

Stumbling into movement, trying not to twitch, Rey heads back to the engine that she was tinkering with before lunch.

She can do this. She will earn that reward. She _will_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this is obviously gonna have a Part 2.


	6. [Conceiving AU, Part II] Keep Calm and- Oh I Say, How Terribly Inappropriate, Stop that this Instant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to Conceive AU, Part 2
> 
> Warnings: Even more public shenanigans, Why can't I stop writing these two as voyeurs, Naughtiness in cars, Modern AUs mean I use ALL THE SWEARS, ALL THE TIME

“If you could just go over the precedents one more time, I'm not certain that I'm ready for the exam next Monday-”

Mitaka is saying something. Ben knows that he probably should be following the ramblings of his most anxious student, but he isn't. He can't. Instead, he's having a staring contest with the potted fake plant that sits in the corner of his office.

In his mind's eye, all he can see is Rey squirming underneath him. Her cheeks pinked and her lips wet as she stared up at him with the sort of breathless anticipation that used to make him dizzy when they were younger. How wet she'd been when he curved his fingers inside her to push in the vibrator. God, how fantastic that would've felt around his _cock_. It's been hours but she's probably wet even now, damp and sticky through her practical white panties. He should've perched her on the edge of that desk and buried his head between her legs. He should've made her scream, the whole garage be damned. He should've-

“Professor Solo?”

Ben slowly disengages from the potted plant and looks over his glasses at Mitaka. The boy is so pale that he's practically transparent. Probably just needs some encouragement. “I'm certain that you're prepared,” Ben says, not entirely without sympathy. “This is just standard pre-exam nerves.”

“I know, but all the same, if you could confirm that I understand this correctly...”

Ben sighs and discreetly pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. With a few quick taps, he pulls up the app that controls the vibrator remotely, sliding the dial ever so slightly up in intensity.

Mitaka is still talking. Ben goes back to staring at his potted plant.

 

* * *

 

The traffic is smooth on his way from the university. Rey is practically hopping from foot to foot in front of the garage when he pulls up to the curb. She sprints to him and yanks the door open, scrambling inside. “You're late!”

The clock blinks at him on his dashboard. _5:02_. “Not that late.”

“Late enough.” She snaps her seatbelt into place. “Come on, please, let's go.”

He puts the car in gear, but not before stopping to grin at her. “Aren't we a bit eager?”

Rey sniffs at him haughtily, just a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Get moving, you horrible influence. Or else.”

No matter the implied threat, he refuses to drive any faster than he normally does. Rey can't stop fidgeting but he feels almost unnaturally calm, mostly because he knows that it annoys her even further. He wants to ask about her day, but- no, no, that can wait. For the right moment.

They drive in silence until he abruptly turns off the highway. Rey snaps out of her reverie and whips around to glare at him accusingly, her brow tightly furrowed. “This isn't the way home!”

“It's not,” he agrees cheerfully.

“You said-”

“I said you'd get a reward,” he continues, exiting the ramp and turning again towards the parking lot of a shabby diner. Rey's favourite, and always her first choice for birthdays and celebrations. “Didn't say what it was.”

When he gets out of the car and stands to open her door, she is gaping and closing her mouth over like an outraged fish. He would laugh if it wasn't for the very real risk that she would ice him out for the rest of the evening.

“You,” she splutters, “I.... This...”

“I'm going in for a burger,” he says casually, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “You can sit out here if you'd like, but I'd prefer it if you joined me.”

 

* * *

 

They end up nestled in a booth in the far corner of the diner, per Ben's specific request. The place is full of its usual mix of truckers, disenfranchised youth, and young families. The racket of the cheesy pop music over the speakers is enough that he's confident that they won't be overheard.

He waits until Rey has her strawberry milkshake and cheeseburger in front of her. She's sulking, but his girl was never one to pass up a meal.

Rather than start on his own food, he drapes a long arm around her shoulders. She's down to her regular clothes now, the t-shirt and jeans that go underneath her work coveralls. Pity that she can't wear skirts to work. “So,” he starts cheerfully, just as she takes her first sip. “Did you come?”

She nearly chokes on her milkshake.

Undeterred, he keeps talking. “I thought about it all afternoon. It was a good thing I was behind a desk, I swear to God- but then, I thought, you know, she normally can't get anywhere without a little outside help, so even though I kept turning the intensity up-”

“Ben!” she hisses, face scarlet from a combination of coughing and embarrassment. “We are in _public_.”

He leans down to thoughtfully nuzzle at the curve of her ear. “That didn't bother you before.”

“That- that was different, we at least had some walls-”

Catching the smallest bit of skin between his teeth, he grins into her neck when she breaks off to gasp. “Answer the question, sweetheart.”

She picks at a fry for a long moment before asking with a shuddering breath, “What was the question again?”

“I think you know,” he chides, lifting his head to smile at her profile. “Did you come?”

She shakes her head back and forth briskly and silently.

“Would you like to?”

Jerky up and down nods this time. When he slides his hand between her thighs, she jumps and looks to him with wide eyes. “I didn't mean _here_.”

And yet, he notes, her legs spread anyway, giving him easy access to rub his fingers along the seam of her jeans. He can feel himself immediately start to get hard when he realises that she even feels damp through the denim. “Shit, sweetheart.”

Rey is still determinedly nibbling at her fries, staring with unseeing eyes at the low-hanging lamp that dangles above their table.

“Undo your button,” he murmurs, and she stops eating long enough to subtly lower one hand and pop it open. It's enough that he can lower the zipper, awkwardly cramming his hand down the front of her panties until he can feel how sodden she is down there. “Fuuu- _uuuck_ ,” he hisses, low and long, letting the air out through his teeth. He can even feel the rumbling of the vibrator still inside her, persistently whirring away.

The angle isn't great. Ben has to twist his torso towards her and prop her feet on the opposite bench so he can reach enough to awkwardly grip the slippery vibrator and pull it out of her, withdrawing his arm and slipping it in his pocket. She lets out a shaky and happy sigh as he uses his phone to turn it off. Her glassy eyes look to his. "I thought I was going to go mad," she says softly, blinking languidly.

"I'm not done," he murmurs back, and Rey's fingers wrap tightly in his shirt sleeve as he slips his hand back down the front of her jeans, easier now that they’ve been pulled a ways down her hips. "You'd better keep eating, don't want to look too suspicious."

As if anyone couldn't tell what they were doing if they properly looked. He's counting on them not looking. Rey takes another fry with trembling hand as he pushes his fingers into her dripping cunt again, trying to stroke properly, trying to grind the flat of his palm against her clit. He mumbles into her ear as he does it, trying to look like he’s just whispering sweet nothings to his date. “I hope you thought about me all day. I sure fucking thought about you, it was all I could do to focus on anything- all I wanted was to drive back to the shop and bend you over a car, spank you raw, and fuck you senseless.”

The softest little whimper escapes her lips and she quickly covers it by taking another fry and putting it in her mouth, scrunching her eyes shut tightly.

“Is that what you wanted?”

Again, that jerky little nod.

“Tell me.” He adds more pressure with his palm, trying to rotate it a bit, and— well, it’s not particularly precise, but she keeps tightening around his fingers, so it seems to be working—

“I,” she pants out, peeking down between her lashes to look at where his hand is moving in her jeans, as if she could see through the fabric and watch his fingers fuck her if she focused hard enough. “I, I was so mad, that you left, I wanted—” She shudders as a particularly fierce spasm makes her shake, “I wanted you to come back, and, and I was going to take you to the locker room and suck you but not let you come, see how _you_ liked it—”

Holy Jesus. Ben’s underwear is chafing insistently against his erection, but he just leans over a little further, shielding her a bit more from view. “You naughty thing, are you gonna come for me now, sweetheart? In a room with all these people?” And fucking goddamn it if she doesn’t get even tighter around him, fuck, _fuuuuuck_ , he hadn’t anticipated how much _he_ would be wishing that they were alone right now—

“Ben, I, Be—” The rest is lost when she flops down and puts her head to the table, knees shaking wildly but silently as she comes on his fingers. It rolls through her until she goes boneless with the sweetest little gasp, face rolling to the side and eyelashes fluttering. 

Ah, yes, Ben thinks smugly, tugging his hand away and zipping up her jeans, wiping his shiny-sticky fingers clean on the denim. He’s still got it.

Rey’s eyes are almost feverish when she opens them and sits up like she’s in a trance. “Excuse me!” she suddenly calls out, making Ben jump and frantically scoot away to put a bit of space between them. She waves to flag down the waitress. “Hello, yes, we’ll take this in a bag, please! To go!” She digs into her pockets and pulls out a crumpled $20 bill, tossing it on the table. When the waitress finally brings a bag over, Rey practically snatches it up, stuffing their untouched meals into it.

If Ben’s pride swells any bigger he thinks his head might pop. Rey _never_ leaves a meal halfway through. And, well, if she’s willing to skip food and rush them back home so he can properly fuck her senseless, he is more than okay with that.

Rey pushes him out of the booth and at the last second he remembers to carry his coat next to his stomach to cover his rather obvious bulge. No need to alarm the locals. He trips after her as she flees from the diner, and they're two steps from the car when Rey yanks the keys from his hands, elbowing him out of the way to open the door on the driver's side.

“What...” he says, totally nonplussed as she slams the door shut and starts the ignition. Ben's mouth drops open when the car starts to move. God, he hadn't been _that_ awful, had he? Surely she's not just going to just leave him here-

Instead of driving for the exit, though, she just turns the car in a tight circle and drives thirty feet to the far corner of the parking lot, away from all the other cars. Then she exits the driver's seat, waving him over with obvious urgency.

Now thoroughly confused, he barely makes it there before she's yanked the back door open and shoved him onto the back seat. Sprawling awkwardly, he pulls his long limbs out of the way in a hurry before she slams it closed on his legs; he's still catching his breath when she yanks him into an upright sitting position and straddles him, face contorted in focus.

“Wow,” he mutters, impressed, “this is-”

“Oh, shut up,” she huffs, shimmying out of one leg of her jeans with remarkable flexibility and dexterity. “Get your fly open, now.”

Damn. _Damn_. He doesn't get to see this side of her very often. He scrambles to obey but it's Rey who bats his hands away and tugs his boxers down, leaving his cock to spring up against his stomach, smearing wet pre-come against his skin.

Confident fingers wrap around him and he sucks in a breath before she's sinking down onto his cock, whimpering and pressing her head to the crook of his shoulder.

It’s all he can do to let his head fall back and groan into the air as he’s enveloped in _tight_ and _hot_ and _wet_ , each grinding movement of her hips making light pop behind his eyelids. 

Rey lifts her head enough that he can hear her chanting in a whisper, “Fuck, Ben, fuck, _fuck_ ,” against his shoulder, her breath hot on his neck. 

He can’t remember the last time they were so frantic to have each other. No matter how they’d tried and promised themselves that they wouldn’t let it happen, there was something hopelessly mechanical about having sex based on a strict calendar. About dutifully persevering, even when one of them wasn’t feeling well. Even when she was clearly tired and stressed. Every time, he ends up wondering if something is wrong with his swimmers, and that can make it… Harder to perform.

But _fuck_ , he’s not thinking about any of that now. Instead he’s thinking about getting her shirt lifted enough that he can grope under her bra, kneading in a way that makes her grind her hips even faster. He’s thinking about her nails skating along his back, about her fingers tangling in his hair and pulling until he sees stars. He’s thinking about how to grip her hips and lift them so he can move as well, thrusting up over and over, watching raptly as Rey’s hand snakes between her thighs and rubs frantic little circles until her mouth falls open and she lets out a stuttered wail.

He smothers it by surging forward and pulling her into an overwhelming and sloppy kiss. She quivers against him and he feels _that_ everywhere, so much that it doesn’t take a lot more grinding until she’s the one now smothering his sounds as he comes. She smells so good and feels so soft, and there's something deeply primal about the satisfaction of knowing what they're doing _could_ lead to a child. 

They slump against the seats, out of breath, while Ben’s brain tries to catch up with the rest of him. He hasn’t had sex in the back of the car since… Goddamn, high school? His thigh is starting to cramp. “Fuck,” he breathes out in one long exhaled breath.

“Fuck,” Rey agrees, before squirming out of his lap and awkwardly trying to put her jeans back on. “C’mon, let’s go, I want my milkshake.”  

He half-chuckles until Rey accidentally elbows him hard in the stomach while she tries to dress. Wheezing, he grips the headrest of the seat in front of him and coughs. “I think this kind of misbehaviour might be best left to the young.”

“Whatever,” Rey chirps happily, “I _am_ young, old man.”

Ben tries to swat her behind in retaliation but she ducks out of the car easily, still laughing at him. He clambers out after her, just in time for both of them to see a scandalised mother shepherding her two children across the parking lot while shooting them filthy looks. The woman even tries to cover her children’s ears as she propels them to the diner.

“Oh,” Rey says softly, freezing stock still and turning red.

He can't help but laugh. “I don’t think we were very discreet,” he says, looking at the retreating boys and eyeing their little steps. “Do you think...” Ben knows he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t even hope, but he can barely help himself. The hope is the hardest part. “Maybe, that time...”

“I don’t know,” Rey answers very softly, her voice growing a little sad as she adds, "probably not, if my tracking is right. But…" Her tone shifts, now heavy with meaning. "I think we’d better go home and try again, just to be sure.”

He’s so derailed into thinking about little Bens and Reys that it takes him a few seconds to follow what she means. “What do you—” he breaks off when he sees the twinkle in her eye. “Oh. _Oh_. Right. Yes. Good plan. Excellent idea, Mrs. Solo.”

She pulls the driver’s side door open with a flourish, intoning, “Go on, then, Mr. Solo.” Once they’re both securely in the car and she's strapped into the passenger seat beside him, her hand trails up his thigh, swirling little patterns against the fabric of his trousers.

He breaks every single speed limit on the way home.

 

 


	7. [Ancient Greece AU] The Ritual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ancient Greece AU
> 
> Warnings: Prostitution, dub-con (due to a one-off prostitution situation, it's... It'll make sense, I promise, and it's consensual in context)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a prompt for "ritual" on Tumblr and I decided to base an AU around [**this strange little detail about life in ancient Cyprus according to Herodotus. ******](http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20161017-it-was-an-ancient-form-of-sex-tourism)

He’s a handsome man. 

All things considered, Rey is certain that this could be much, much worse. She had sat beneath the high ceiling of the temple, eyes modestly lowered, for barely an hour. The coin had been generous and heavy in her lap. It would be donated to the Temple, of course, but for now it weighs down the purse attached to her hip.

Rey’s heart had been in her throat when she looked up. He was neither as old nor as haggard as she had worried; instead, he had a long and refined face, black hair falling in waves past his ears and small moles dotted against his skin. She sent up a quick prayer to Aphrodite that the scar that marred his cheek did not mean that he was cruel.  

Standing, Rey takes his hand and leads him to the smaller rooms in the back of the temple, their sandals quiet against the marble. Even as she begins to undo the layers of draped fabric that cover her, he stops her, hand on her wrist. “Wait. I… Who are you?” He has an accent that she can’t place, something educated and foreign.

“I’m no one.” Just a poor girl fulfilling her obligation to the Temple of Aphrodite, just as every woman needs to, at least once in her lifetime. 

This doesn’t satisfy him. “I would know your name.”

It doesn’t seem relevant, but it also can’t hurt. “Rey,” she says. “My name is Rey.”

 

* * *

 

She is… Beautiful.  _Unfairly_  beautiful.

Ben has read of the customs around these parts, but he had hardly been able to believe that what he read was true. It was curiosity, more than anything, that led him up the temple steps.

And there she was. Pale skin and lowered eyelashes. A fine, straight nose and a defined jaw. A slight tremble in the hand that wrapped in the folds of her skirt. Sitting cross-legged, an offering to Aphrodite and whichever man approached her first.

It was terror that someone else might beat him there, more than anything, that made him fish out his heaviest coin and immediately toss it into her lap.

Now they’re in this tiny room and she’s disrobing and by  _Zeus_ , he feels like he’s a young man being with a woman for the first time again. She glances at him over her shoulder as the fabric slips off her shoulders, baring her back. “You’ll need to undress too.”

Even her voice is lovely and he fumbles as he unwinds the cloths that cover his body. Her eyes flicker down and he doesn’t miss the flash of anxiety when she sees his cock, hard and eager already. “Is this your first time?”

She goes to the simple cot and gets on her back to spread her legs. For a moment he thinks that she’s going to ignore his question, but she gives a curt nod as she stares at the ceiling. Even at a distance, he can see the way she’s clenched everything so tightly that it makes the muscles in her stomach stand out.

Thankfully, he knows of a way to remedy that. 

 

* * *

 

The strange foreigner gestures at her to sit on the edge of the small cot. Rey doesn’t understand until he kneels between her spread legs and sets upon her like she’s a feast and he’s a starving man.

And that is— oh.  _Oh_ , that’s nice, she thinks, and dizzying. It’s also a bit embarrassing and she keeps straying to wondering how ridiculous this must look, but then there’s the soft press of a finger into her and she isn’t thinking about anything at all.

It’s a strange feeling, close to pain but not quite. Especially when he crooks his finger and Rey feels it arc up her spine somehow, skittering against her skin where she’s lying against rough cotton. She spreads her legs wider and begins to rock her hips; when her fingers find his soft hair, he groans and she decides that she likes that  _very_  much. She likes it even better when he switches to sucking, and there’s something so obscene about it that it pushes her even higher, especially when the intrusion of his fingers grows more insistent.

It’s nothing like the little releases that she’s sought with her own fingers. It’s never happened this quickly when she’s alone, and never been so intense. She doesn’t think she’s ever been as dedicated about her own orgasm as this man is, and it’s strange but she’s not complaining.

When it hits, her back bows off the bed, and she snaps a hand to her mouth to smother her wail. It wouldn’t be right to alarm the other worshippers.

She almost giggles when it occurs to her sleepy and sated brain that, to be fair, there probably is no prayer that Aphrodite would be more interested in.

 

* * *

 

He can’t wait any longer.

Once she’s stopped shaking, Ben clambers over her on the cot and folds her legs to her chest. The promise of heat and slickness is enough to make his cock twitch in longing. There’s not enough space for a man of Ben’s stature— by Zeus, there’s barely enough space for her, and she feels tiny underneath him— so he ends up partially kneeling, one foot braced against the floor, as he pushes into her.

He probably shouldn’t enjoy the sound she makes. Not when the pleasure is mixed with breathy shock and pain. But he can’t lie to himself, not when she clamps down around his cock so tightly and she’s so  _very_  wet.

So he kisses her, this Rey, this lovely girl. He’d had no idea when he had his breakfast, that morning, that this is how his day was going to turn out. He couldn’t be more grateful. Holy Aphrodite, indeed.  

A few more thrusts and she’s grown more pliant, kissing him back eagerly. Her fingers are in his hair again— she seems fascinated by it, and he certainly isn’t going to stop her— and her feet are twitching on either side of his head, resting as they are against his shoulders. Kissing her means that he can’t stare at her breasts the way he’d like to, but that seems like a small sacrifice when she sucks his lower lip between her teeth.

 

* * *

 

He’s big. He’s unfairly big, and Rey had felt it when he loomed over her, his shoulders broad and muscled. What does he  _do?_  His fingers are manicured, he can’t be a farmer or a trader. Perhaps a merchant, or an orator.

It turns out that he’s big everywhere, and she feels it deep in her stomach when he first presses into her. The weight of him is oppressive and it’s unbelievable that it takes as little time as it does to become a sweet pressure each time he moves forward. She’s heard of other girls speak of this ritual as being painful, awkward, uncomfortable.

This has been many things, but it has  _not_  been unenjoyable.

Rey can taste herself on his kisses, which is very strange. But she likes the way that his face being close presses her knees even more tightly to her chest, and she really like the way that it makes the impact of his cock feel even sweeter. Her hips feel flush with heat and she could sing praises to Aphrodite forever, she thinks, if this is what it means to be with a man.

He groans against her mouth and twitches, elbow buckling a little next to her head. Next thing she knows, his hips have stilled and she feels a rush of heat between her legs as he snaps his head up and swears at the wall behind her. She likes the way his hair has fallen into his eyes, his skin flushed, his teeth bared. He’s rather beautiful like that.

 _There_ , she thinks, as he gingerly lifts himself off her.  _Obligatory ritual, done_. The twinge of regret over the ordeal being finished doesn’t make any sense, but it lingers all the same. 

 

* * *

 

As they’re dressing, silent and awkward in the too-small room, it suddenly seems unbearable to Ben that this will be the last time they interact.

“Can I see you again?” She flinches and he realises the implication a moment too late. “Not as a— I mean— can I…” He clears his throat awkwardly. “I want to come to know you. As a friend. I, uh… I could use a guide for these parts.”

Her eyes are narrowed but she still looks like she’s considering it. “I live down in one of the caves. Near Fabrica hill.”

That explains the paleness. “I will come find you.”

“If you’d like,” she says, shrugging a shoulder, and then she is gone.

Senator Solo doesn’t think he’s ever been more immediately smitten in his life.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is loooove <3


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